Winter's Heart
by Jessica Wolfe
Summary: -The Hob's Bargain- Two years after Kith joins Lord Moresh's guard, the lord's bloodmage sees Quilliar in town. Quilliar is given two choices, become a bloodmage or die. But Quilliar has his own plans. He won't fuel the bloodmage's power, alive... or dead


A/N: A little fic that tickled my brain while reading Patricia Briggs' The Hob's Bargain. Set several years before the book. I don't think there are any spoilers, since the incident below is mentioned several times in the book, but I wanted to expand on it a bit. The 'lyrics' toward the end are mine. Happy reading.

* * *

A north wind howled outside the cave. It was snowing when he left home, but the storm had worsened tenfold since then. Quilliar huddled against the cave wall, as far from the entrance and the wind as he could get. He had chosen to die. His choice. His terms. He just hadn't expected it take so long.

Quilliar raised his head from his knees, staring into the whiteout. Had someone called his name? It was probably just the cold, finally invading his mind. Muddling his senses.

"Quill!"

That definitely wasn't the cold.

He rose, joints stiff from the cold and from sitting so long. Who would have braved the storm to find him? Fear made his heart thud in his chest. He wasn't going back! He'd never serve the bloodmage.

"Quill!"

A form emerged from the storm, cloaked against the snow, with a large hump on its back. Quilliar blinked. Could it be the hob the mountain was named for? But no, the wildlings had been gone from the land for generations. And there was something familiar about the shape coming toward him.

"Kith?" Quilliar called to the approaching figure.

"You're a hard man to track," Kith said, entering the cave.

He threw back the hood of his cloak and shook the snow from his shoulders. The hump on his back was a pack and a pile of firewood.

For a moment, all Quilliar could see was Lord Moresh's guard. The dark uniform, the neatly cropped hair, the sword at Kith's hip. Quilliar's hand went to the knife on his belt. He wouldn't go back. Not even for his best friend.

But then Kith smiled, something he did all too little of late, and Quilliar found himself enfolded in the strong arms of his friend.

"I'm so sorry, Quill," Kith said.

The tears and fear Quilliar had managed to hold back while he was alone came spilling out. He clutched Kith's tunic, shaking from more than just the cold.

"I was so sure when I walked out of the house that I was doing the right thing," Quilliar said through his tears. "I won't be a bloodmage, and I won't let him use my death. But, being out here in the cold . . . alone . . ."

Kith's arms tightened around him. "You chose right for you," he said. "Come on, I'll make a fire."

Kith pulled him deeper into the cave and had him sit. The other man dropped his thick cloak around Quilliar's shoulders then he gathered rocks to form into a ring, and laid out a bit of tinder and sticks in the center. Quilliar watched Kith's capable hands strike the flint and steel, and a moment later, a merry blaze warmed the two young men.

"That's better," Kith said, seating himself next to Quilliar.

They sat in silence for a while, Quilliar guiltily soaking in the heat. He'd come out here to save himself the horror of a tormented death at the hands of a bloodmage, and now he was prolonging that death.

"Kith—"

"Shh," Kith whispered.

He filled a travel kettle with water from a canteen then measured some tea leaves into the kettle and hung it over the fire. They stayed silent as the tea came to a boil and Kith pulled an earthenware mug from his pack.

"I only have the one."

"I don't mind sharing," Quilliar said.

Kith poured the tea and sweetened it with a bit of sugar. They shared the mug back and forth, basking in the glow of the fire and their friendship. Quilliar realized they didn't need any words. They'd been together since they were boys; getting into trouble, sharing secrets. Each knew what the other was going to say before he said it.

However, there was one thing Quilliar needed to say aloud, and hear Kith speak in return.

"Watch over my family for me," Quilliar said softly as he handed the nearly empty mug back to Kith. "Especially Aren. Don't let the bloodmage . . . "

Kith's hand on his shoulder stopped him. His friend's eyes were haunted.

"Quill, I . . . I'm not the person I was before I joined Lord Moresh's guard. I don't know how much I can do."

Kith poured more tea into the mug, sipped the hot brew and swore.

"Don't let him kill her," Quilliar pleaded softly.

Kith nodded. "Your Ma and Da will see that she's kept out of the bloodmage's way."

Quilliar took the mug and sipped the tea. "You're right. I just . . . "

"I'll do what I can, Quill," Kith said.

"That's all I ask."

The finished the second mug of tea, then settled in close to the fire. Night was falling, making the air even colder.

"Do you remember that song Wandel taught us a couple winters back?" Quilliar murmured, drowsing. "The one about the maid trapped by the snow demon?"

Kith nodded.

"Sing it to me?"

Kith sang. Quilliar's not quite settled tenor joined with Kith's more steady barrritone during the chorus, but he let his friend sing the verses. By the time the final chorus came, Quilliar was leaning against Kith's shoulder, his eyes closed, voice a soft murmur.

_Howl and rage  
__O Winter's Heart  
__The memr'y of sun's tucked in my breast  
__Come the spring, I'll find my rest  
__Come the spring, I'll find my rest_

* * *

The snap of Quillian's neck echoed loudly in the cave. The storm outside had quieted, and even the crackle of the fire was muted. Kith gently lay Quilliar's body down next to the fire and covered him with his cloak.

Fennigyr's spells hadn't changed him enough that he didn't feel grief at his friend's passing. But his grief was tempered by the knowledge that he'd saved his friend the pain of freezing to death. Kith would pay, when Fennigyr found out, but the price was worth it. For Quilliar's peace. For his Da's and Ma's.

For Aren's peace of mind knowing that her brother wouldn't kill and murder for power, or be used to fuel such a power.

Kith placed a hand over Quilliar's cloak covered shoulder.

"I've done what I can," he murmured. "I kept my promise. I only wish I could do more."

He added more wood to the fire. Fennigyr wouldn't miss the boy until tomorrow, and with any luck the storm would hold for the three days it would take to make Quilliar's body useless to the mage's blood magic. Then Kith would be able to return Quilliar to his family safely.

"Sleep well, little brother," Kith murmured. "You've found your rest."


End file.
